


not according to plan

by torigates



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had all these grand plans to do absolutely nothing after the war, now that Voldemort had been defeated. Something about being truly free for the first time in his life, taking advantage of his youth, all that cliché rubbish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not according to plan

  
Harry had all these grand plans to do absolutely nothing after the war, now that Voldemort had been defeated. Something about being truly free for the first time in his life, taking advantage of his youth, all that cliché rubbish.

Of course, when it came to Harry Potter, things never seemed to work out according to plan. He was still the Boy who Lived, after all, and as Ron liked to point out he was now the Boy who Lived Twice.

There were, of course, important things that had to be attended to; funerals, damage repairs, but there was also a lot that Harry rather not get involved with; rebuilding and restructuring the Ministry of Magic, for example.

Mostly, Harry was just tired. He thought he had rather earned a break, but people kept sending him owls, or flooing him, or arriving at the Burrow where he was staying to ask him questions, or congratulate him, or just talk to him.

It was awful.

Of course, Hermione just laughed at him when he conveyed his feelings to she and Ron. “Of course people want to talk to you, Harry,” she said. “You’re a hero.”

Harry rather thought the laughing was out of order. Especially if he was a _hero_ like she said.

Eventually, though, things did quiet down and returned to normal (whatever it was) and before Harry quite realised it, a whole year had gone by since he had destroyed Voldemort.

“How bout it, mate?” Ron asked, showing up at Harry’s flat with a bottle of firewhisky. “I reckon we should get properly pissed.”

Harry grinned and stepped aside. Ron followed him into the apartment.

Harry went into the kitchen and pulled two glasses out of the cupboard.

He was still getting used to having his own place. As much as he was sure Mrs. Weasley would be happy to keep him at the Burrow for as long as he wanted, Harry had started looking for his own flat in London after a few months. He just felt like it was time he had a proper place to call home that wasn’t a school or belonged to his dead godfather.

That was too depressing to consider.

He would have been thrilled to have Ron come live with him, and even contemplated asking him to be flatmates, but he rightly predicted that Ron and Hermione were going to get a place of their own. Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford the place on his own. He had more than enough money, even without working for over a year. He also figured he suffered enough of Ron’s snoring to last him a lifetime.

Harry walked out into the sitting room. Ron had settled onto the sofa, the bottle of firewhisky sitting in front of him on the table. He smiled wide when he saw Harry with the glasses.

“I died a year ago,” Harry said.

“Yeah?” Ron asked. “Let’s just be glad it didn’t take.” He grinned again. “I guess I would have missed you.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry said.

He put the glasses on the table, and Ron leaned forward, uncapping the bottle and pouring them each a generous serving. They immediately threw back the shots, coughing as it burned on the way down.

That was how it started. After Harry’s initial recollection that he had been dead a year ago, they quickly moved on to hte many other things they had been doing last year.

“A year ago I hadn’t showered in over a week,” Ron offered.

Harry raised his glass. “To running water!”

They drank.

“A year ago we were camping.”

Drink.

“A year ago we were at Hogwarts!”

Drink.

“Fighting Death Eaters!”

Drink.

“Neville beheaded a giant snake!”

They drank twice to that one.

And on it went. It was around eight or nine shots later that things turned morose.

“A year ago Fred was alive,” Ron said.

Harry stared at him, and felt a wave of sadness wash over him, not just for Fred, but everyone who was alive a year ago today and was dead now.

“To Fred,” he said raising his glass. Ron followed suit.

Harry could tell things were about to take a turn for the depressing. That was when he heard the loud crack of apparition outside his door, followed by an ever louder, urgent knock.

He looked at Ron, a puzzled expression on his face. “Whazzat?” he slurred.

Ron shrugged.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice floated through the closed door. “Are you home?”

“Shit,” Ron said. “I’m in trouble.

Harry burst out giggling at this, slowly rising from the couch and stumbling towards the door, banging his knee on the table and cursing loudly.

“Hermione!” he greeted her cheerfully.

“Oh, good,” she said. “You are home—” she broke off at the sight of him, her eyes sliding to Ron, slumped over slightly on the couch.

“Are you two _drunk_?” she asked.

“I always knew you were the clever one, Hermione,” he said pointing at her. The trouble was, he forgot he was holding his drink, and some of the alcohol slopped over the edge and onto the floor. All three eyes watched it fall, as if in slow motion. Behind him, Ron snorted.

“Really!” she chastised. “It’s the middle of the day! We’re supposed to be going to the memorial ceremony at the Ministry in a few hours.”

“Oops,” Ron said, and hiccupped.

Hermione huffed.

“I died a year ago today?” Harry offered.

Hermione continued to stare at him for what felt like a very long time. Harry began to be distracted, wondering if she was ever going to blink. Eventually, she pushed passed him, walking over and joining Ron on the sofa.

“Get me a glass, would you, Harry?” she asked.

The boys grinned.

The three of them showed up completely pissed to the memorial, trying (and failing) to keep serious expressions on their faces.

They next day they were horrendously hung over and plastered all over the newspapers.

Harry figured there could be worse fates than the Boy who Lived (Twice). 


End file.
